


When Sherlock Has Trouble Sleeping

by Aptemis



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Sleepy Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aptemis/pseuds/Aptemis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What, you're offering to kiss me goodnight and tuck me in?" He snorted and shook his head, then paused again.     "You...weren't, were you?"</p><p> </p><p>Written by iFranceskate</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Sherlock Has Trouble Sleeping

It was late when Sherlock slunk into the living room, hunched irritably. His eyes were flinty as he fixed his gaze on John, and curled into a ball in his armchair. John eyed him with an air of amusement.  
“You been trying to sleep? For once?” He asked lightly.  
"I do occasionally need to...recharge." Sherlock twisted his mouth in distaste and extracted an arm to scrub a hand through his hair. "I can't rest, for whatever reason. Just six hours, but no. My mind can't rest for even so short a time."  
"Maybe you could ask Mrs. Hudson if you could borrow an 'evening soother.'," John grinned teasingly and set down his laptop on the side table, "Is there anything I can do--to--er--help?" He cocked his head to the side slightly, enjoying how positively disheveled Sherlock looked.  
"Mm." Sherlock lifted an eyebrow and watched John watch him. "What, you're offering to kiss me goodnight and tuck me in?" He snorted and shook his head, then paused again. "You...weren't, were you? Not even Mumm-Mother did that for me."  
John blinked rapidly, unsure of what he had just heard, "Er---wh--no, I mean, not unless--no, I wasn't offering--," He snapped his jaw shut, pursing his lips in defiance. Promptly, John snatched back up his laptop and tried to busy himself with the bland dead-end case he was struggling to write up.  
"Right." Sherlock smirked vaguely at him over his laptop. "You're atrocious at covering for yourself." He glanced around him on the chair and finally settled on curling his legs up under himself, stretching, cat-like again. "Perhaps I can go to sleep with you there. Company might help," he reasoned in a low mutter. "Living room is also an actually more familiar setting than my own bedroom."  
Rolling his eyes, John looked up from the screen. The prospect of Sherlock lying there all night on the cramped sofa was simply absurd, especially as his limbs were already curled under his body in awkward, uncomfortable looking positions. Sighing, John rose from his chair, setting the laptop down. "Alright. Come on, back to your room. I'll---tuck you in. But that's all." He averted his gaze and gestured to the hallway, urging Sherlock to go ahead of him.  
Sherlock shot him a questioning glance but unfolded himself and walked ahead of him. "Thank you, I suppose, but it's completely unnecessary. I assure you that if I need to sleep, the place doesn't matter so much as the mindset." And right now, it rather felt like his brains were being gnawed at by chemical formulas, nasty little letters. At least John's presence calmed it all a little.  
"Fine, then, my room." John redirected the detective with a firm nudge towards the stairs, thankful Sherlock was ahead of him. A delicate flush was seeping into his cheeks, and John struggled to keep the hammering of his heart to a dull roar, at least. Tucking him in, that's all. John repeated to himself, ascending the stairs carefully after the lanky form in front of him.  
Sherlock stopped on the stairs and turned a bit, narrowing his eyes at John. He sighed, exasperated, as he cataloged his expression. "If you don't want it to be like that, don't even think about it. I'd rather skip the whole uncomfortable act here, thanks. I can tuck myself in." He purses his lips, considering. "On the other hand, if you want it to be like that, just say so. I'm not the best with...understanding these things without empirical evidence."  
"Be like what?" John shot Sherlock an equally irritated glance, steeling himself, "You said you can't sleep--so I'm trying to help." He pushed Sherlock forward, pressing his hand against the small of the detective's back. Honestly, completely insufferable. "I don't know what the hell you're implying." A smile flickered across his lips, secretly reveling in Sherlock's confusion.  
Sherlock reached around and pulled John's wrist away from his back. Holding his arm up pointedly, he pressed a finger to the pulse point and mouthed his counting. He dropped his arm. "The heart is a treacherous thing." With that, he turned around to head back up the stairs, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.  
"Wh—Sherlock!" John spluttered, following behind him closely, the smugness draining from his face, "You can't just—you can't just assume things just because I have high blood pressure." He crossed his arms over his chest as they reached the landing, just inches from John's bedroom.  
"That chooses to accelerate the second you decide to escort me to sleep, completely voluntarily, might I add." He whirled round again abruptly, their faces too close. "Convenient," he breathed, eyes dancing as he entered the doorway backwards with a step. "But let's not dwell on that, because clearly I tamper with your coherence."  
"Oh, sod off," John huffed, placing the tips of his fingers against the unblemished skin of Sherlock's chest and pushing him backwards. The navy blue duvet was still marginally rumpled from the previous night, but John doubted Sherlock would care, judging by the state of his own room. "Right--in you go." He said stiffly, battling internally to keep any other deducible signs under his control.  
"Right." Sherlock dropped the teasing act and grinned genuinely. "Thank you for this. I ask a lot of you, I'm aware." He sighed now, more heavily, and flopped onto the bed. Immediately, Sherlock turned his nose into the pillow and inhaled, curious. "Wondering if your pillow smells like you do," he explained, crinkling his nose up at John.  
With quick, even strides, John jerked the covers over Sherlock, "I wouldn't know," He swallowed hard, unsure of what to do next, "Er---anything else?" Even now, John could feel the heat returning to his cheeks.  
"I'd ask you to stay," Sherlock said, eyes flicking over his face and crinkling at the corners with amusement. "But that'd be unnecessarily cruel of me." He bit his bottom lip absently. "Where will you sleep for the night, then? Sofa? Bad for your back."  
"God no," John let out a steady stream of air from his parted lips, coming to a decision, "I'm sleeping here." He grinned fiercely and slid underneath the covers as well, promptly turning his back to the detective.  
Sherlock drew in a sharp breath, more than a little startled. "Really," he said lightly. Fat chance of 'recharging' now--why did John have to go and be interesting all over again? He reached out and curled a hand over his shoulder. "Good night, then," he whispered. 

John leaned over and flicked off the light, plunging them both into semi-darkness, the only light coming from the soft white beams outside. He waited until Sherlock's breathing seemed slow and deep, then shifted slightly so he was facing his slumbering flatmate. Propping himself on one elbow, John allowed his eyes to wander over Sherlock's delicate features. His lips were parted slightly, and for a moment John seriously considered leaning over and finding out what they felt like pressed against his own. Would Sherlock feel it?  
Sleep couldn't hold Sherlock in his clutches for long. He was fighting off tendrils of its darkness in some corner of his mind, and the moment he realized this, he was back to full consciousness. His eyes slid open and were confronted by John, who was leaning over him slightly.  
"You're awake," Sherlock said, disapproving lightly. "And watching me..." He narrowed his gaze now, but his brow smoothed out with a quiet, "Oh. Yes."  
Reaching out, Sherlock touched the side of John's neck and traced his fingertips to just under his ear, mouth not quite smiling. "Do I look so unnatural in sleep that you have to stare?" he said wryly, with full awareness that that wasn't quite why.  
Startled, John jerked back slightly, embarrassed at being caught. Sherlock's crystalline eyes bore into his with a calculating air, his fingertips brushing along John's neck.  
"I was just--seeing if you were asleep." He breathed, almost inaudibly. Feeling his cheeks growing steadily more scarlet, John was grateful for the lack of light. As Sherlock's fingers strayed down his skin, an uncomfortable heat coursed through his spine.  
"Just----," He trailed off as his foot came in contact with Sherlock's beneath the covers.  
Sherlock nudged back against his foot, toe brushing his arch absently. His eyes are still locked on John's. In this moment, he's as vulnerable looking up as John is looking down--his face began to heat, his eyes widened and were, in all likelihood, blown black. He tried to fight back whatever was swelling in his chest--it was usually easier than this, but John was never so close and readable.

He wondered whether he should be afraid.

Sherlock’s thumb trailed across his pulse point once more, eyebrow lifting. He bit his lip, exhaled. "Well."

Subconsciously, John leaned forward, his pulse quickening still under Sherlock's fingers. They were so bloody close, so unbelievably close. The faint smell of lavender soap---John's lavender soap---reached his nose. How long had Sherlock been using his? 

This was absolutely ridiculous, utterly absurd. John was not going to kiss his flatmate; best friend. Only best friend for that matter-----and yet. 

His lips brushed lightly against Sherlock's, his hand raising to mimic the detective's, fingers carding through his thick disheveled hair. 

Sherlock's eyes shot even wider before sliding shut again. He pulled John in closer, tipping his chin backwards into the kiss and nearly chasing his mouth back up.

Slow down. He brushed their bottom lips together. Collect, analyze. Three creases in his bottom lip, minute scar on the top. He could taste the place where his smile started, if he wanted to. Scented vague and warm, sun and raspberries, tea. Sherlock was afraid--very afraid, almost as much as he was relieved and exhilarated. He had suppressed everything for so long and now it was just in his reach. He would lose John, he was sure of it.  
John huffed gently into Sherlock's mouth as he pulled John closer, their bodies flush against each other. Rolling on top of Sherlock, John crushed his lips once more against his mouth. Peppermint, He noted, slightly amused, my peppermint toothpaste.  
John paused for a moment, drawing away. Sherlock's eyes were half-hooded, his breath coming in short, heavy bursts. John Watson was on top of his flatmate, his best friend. In the morning, John thought, panicked, he won't even want to look me in the eye.  
Sherlock's other hand slid up to circle John's wrist. Eyes sliding closed, he rasped, "Don't even think. I can hear you." He lifted a leg and braced the inside of his knee just against John's hip so he could kiss him again and again, mouth opening slick beneath his easily. Almost lazy, he sucked at his lower lip and soothed the swell with his tongue. Couldn't be too urgent now. "Don't you doubt that I want you," he added in a gasp, mouth messy on his cheek.  
"But---," John responded to Sherlock's kisses, eyes sliding closed as he sucked at his bottom lip, "--I thought you were--a--virgin."  
He regretted saying it the moment the words left his lips. Surely Sherlock would push him off, rise from the bed, and stalk downstairs. Sex wasn't all John wanted, but Sherlock would certainly think so. In penance, John dipped his head down and nuzzled Sherlock's neck, planting small kisses along his pale, smooth chest, "Although I'd be completely content to just lie here on top of you," John muttered.  
Sherlock paused and pulled back from him, regarding him silently for a long moment until his breath slowed again. "I've done this much before. Never excited me, exactly, but. For cases, mostly. Information purposes. Anything I can use against the other side without inconveniencing myself." He shook his head and touched the nape of John's neck. "This is anything but that, though. I...am fond of you, as you know." He dragged in a breath and gave up on that train of thought. "I'd be fine with lying here with you, too."  
"Fond--," John murmured into Sherlock's chest, his mouth quirking into grin. 'Fond' was probably the closest Sherlock would ever get to love. He shifted slightly, suddenly aware of the pressure somewhere below his abdomen. Groaning, John rolled off Sherlock and sat up, running his hands over his lined face.  
"I'll take care of this," He sighed, pulling back the duvet. John would simply excuse himself, creep into the bathroom, and finish. Better not to take things too fast, as he assumed Sherlock was quite inexperienced with these sorts of things.  
"No, you won't," Sherlock snapped immediately. He found John's wrist again and, tugging him back, sat up as well. "Let me," he breathed, eyes flicking over his face and then down his body.  
He laid his free hand flat on John's abdomen, fingers flexing delicately, seeking permission. Sherlock had done this to him, and he was not letting him go until he saw this through. 

Oh, and he wanted, how he wanted. Sherlock was aware of his matching arousal but made no move but to shift his legs. First, he wanted his hands on John, his mouth, if he'd let him. He would take him apart and piece him back together.  
"Are you sure?" John glanced over at Sherlock tentatively, inhaling sharply as he lay his hand on his heated skin. God, John's mind raced, trying to come up with a way to wriggle out of this truly compromising situation, but he couldn't think of any. He focused on Sherlock's face, half-lit by a sliver of moonlight cutting through the window. Slowly, John leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock's once more, running his tongue softly over his pouting lower lip. 

Sherlock kissed him and stayed silent and still for a moment afterwards, just watching him. "Absolutely certain," he said quietly.

Sherlock's skillful fingers found they were fast on John's trousers, unbuttoning them and gently pushing them down his thighs. He gave him a glance, a sort of warning--he'd have to tell him when to stop, or he wouldn't know--before dipping his head to brush a kiss to the inside of his leg. "Iloveyou," Sherlock muttered suddenly against the silky skin there. 

John raised his eyebrows, unsure of what he had just heard.  
"You what?" His fingers threaded through Sherlock's hair, massaging gently. A tingling sensation rippled through him as Sherlock pressed his lips to the inside of his thighs, so close to where John wanted him. A shuddering breath escaped his lips and he tipped his head back slightly, not wanting to completely lose sight of the detective between his legs.  
"Nothing I can't say later," said Sherlock smoothly. 

He diverted the use of his mouth once more, licking up his inner thigh. Tiny scar here--tree branch, he decided with a wince. Sherlock dragged his lips across it before fully shifting up between his legs, parting them. For a moment he had to pause and admire the sight of him, smirking at the dark straining line. Then he bent his head and ghosted a kiss across the tip of his arousal.

"Say it no-oh!" John gasped as Sherlock's lips brushed his straining length, cutting of his sentence entirely. He bucked his hips up subconsciously, wanting more, needing more.  
"Sherlock!" He whined, frustrated that the cotton fabric of his briefs created a barrier between them. Tightening his grip on Sherlock's hair, John pleaded once more.  
"Sherlock, please." 

Sherlock made a rolling, helpless noise deep in his throat, responding immediately to his name in that voice. "Oh, that's gorgeous, John," he breathed. He worked his briefs off with hurried hands and splayed a palm on his hip as soon as he had pulled them away. Keeping his gaze fixed on his face for the moment, he lowered his head yet again. He pursed his full lips and pressed them to the head, then parted his mouth and, flicking his tongue teasingly across his slit, began moving down his length. Sherlock had to pause, inhaled once or more at the heady musk of him. He would swallow him, but it would take time. Meanwhile, he undulated the muscles of his throat around John as another hand came to wrap and lift his leg a little.

Unable to control himself any longer, John let loose a long, drawn out groan and arched back. He flexed his fingers, which were still entangled in Sherlock's hair.  
"Sher--god---ohSherlock," He sighed, the words running together into one breathy moan. This, this was spectacular. John's mind was blissfully blank, something that Sherlock would argue occurred in normal circumstances anyways. His free hand was now clenching tightly to the wooden rungs of the headboard, knuckles practically white.  
"I know what you said--," John struggled to keep his voice steady, but it was unsuccessful, "---and I love you too."

The words struck him, swooping through Sherlock's stomach. His eyes went wider and warmer and he made a soft humming sound around his length. He considered pulling off, decided he'd be doing neither of them a favor, and refocused his attentions. This wasn't exactly difficult--John in this state was one of the most enthralling things he had ever seen. He was flushed, which was flattering as always, and free of so many of the things that held him back, here beneath Sherlock. It would be a power rush if it weren't so humbling. Working his throat, he finally had his nose not a centimeter away from the soft skin of his abdomen. He swallowed once before he began to move his head more steadily. Sherlock also shifted his sweaty palm away from his hips and down his legs, caressing the backs and allowing him more movement, if he needed it. 

John’s eyes rolled back in to his head as he felt the back of Sherlock's throat, vibrating around his length. He was close now, so dangerously close. Sherlock, being new to this, surely would find John spilling into his mouth a bit distasteful.  
"Sherlock," John pulled Sherlock off him by his hair and dragged him upwards, desperately crushing his mouth against the detective's, "Keep going." 

Sherlock's fingers were still wrapped around his slick erection, tugging leisurely. John let his head drop onto Sherlock's shoulder, biting gently at the porcelain skin there. He breathed in Sherlock's scent; a pungent mixture of soap, sweat and the delicious tang of sex.  
"Ohgod, Sherlock," John stiffened as Sherlock's pulls grew erratic and forceful, bringing him to the edge. All at once, he was coming into Sherlock's fist, crying Sherlock's name into his neck. Waves of pleasure washed over him as he went limp, nose still nuzzled into the slightly bruised skin on Sherlock's shoulder.  
"You---now--," He panted, his fingers slipping down to rest on Sherlock's abdomen. 

Sherlock caught his wrist. "Give me a moment, at least," he rasped, smirking. He kissed his temple and then pulled back to regard him with gentle but still rather fascinated eyes. "That was, well." He touched his face softly and shifted a little, moving to curl a bit at his side so they'd be more uncomfortable. "I think it'd be a bit not good to thank you, yet...That was almost an experience." He nuzzled his nose into John's and grinned. Stroking his thumb, he added, "Really, thank you for letting me do that for you. You looked so..." He hoped the unfading heat of his eyes could speak for him. 

John flushed lightly, glancing away. He figured that was the first time Sherlock had ever seen him really lose control of himself like that. His fingers slipped lower, delicately brushing over Sherlock's now-prominent erection.  
"Have you ever---I mean---done this before?" John asked quietly, kissing along the line of Sherlock's jaw. A pleasant buzz of sleepiness threatened to over-take him then, and he tried to ward it off by grinding up into Sherlock's hips. This seemed to work spectacularly, as the sharp intake of breath from the detective indicated he was more than ready to continue. 

"Not this far, no," Sherlock mumbled. "But it's fine, I think, considering you..." He broke off.  
He arched his back and brought their hips together again, gasping against John's ear. He curled careful but again, possessive hands around John's hips, finally just flinging a leg over them so there wouldn't be a single smooth inch between them. "Sorry, I'll let you sleep soon," he mumbled apologetically nevertheless.

"No--Sherlock, I want to do this for you." He slipped his fingers into Sherlock's briefs, tugging them out of the way with his other hand. Leaning up, John kissed him firmly, parting his lips slightly. As he pulled away, John wrapped his fingers around the base of Sherlock's erection and pulled upwards slowly, thumbing the head leisurely.  
"I want to watch you come undone." John dipped his head and pressed his lips to the skin just below Sherlock's ear. 

"I can probably manage that," Sherlock groaned. His legs fell open and his hips shifted upwards. John chased his mouth up and captured it, muffling some of the more indecent sounds somewhat. 

"Come on, Sherlock." John urged him, increasing the tempo of his upstrokes. His fingernails dug into Sherlock's hip, pulling him closer. "I want you to come for me." John huffed in Sherlock's ear, biting down gently below his earlobe, "I want everyone on this bloody street to hear you call my name." He jerked his wrist deliberately and felt Sherlock seize up, his toes curling, "--Because you're mine." 

Sherlock writhed in frustrated desperation but nodded, doing his best to intersperse wordless groans with John's name. "Yours, yes, yours," he chanted. At last, he slammed his hips into John and lost control completely. For one frightening, miraculous moment, his mind went offline. When it was back, he was dragging John up his body to his chest, meeting his mouth in slowing kisses, though his eyes' intensity never lessened once.

"Good—that’s good," John panted, meeting Sherlock's lips with his own. His entire front was slicked and uncomfortably sticky. Breaking contact for a moment, John leaned over and felt around on the floor for his discarded t-shirt. He wiped them both down and then settled sleepily into the crook of Sherlock's arm, breathing deeply. Another wave of exhaustion washed over him, but this time he accepted it, muttering "I love you, Sherlock." before his eyes slid shut.


End file.
